By Olivia Crawford
A dark sky
Pierced by the moon
A bat flies through it,
Its silhouette dancing
An owl hoots in the distance
Night’s out
Lights out
Dark trees
Casting shadows in the darkness
Hiding something
Yellow eyes peer out
Behind the trees
Shadows lurk
A laugh rings
Echoing
Take the path forgotten
It leads
Winding
To a place forgotten
The clearing
At the end of the path
Opens
To a cemetery
The large willow in the middle
Guards those at rest
Or maybe
Awake
Your crunching footsteps
Press into the fog-ladened ground
Leaves dried and withered
A chill breeze
Sweeps through the clearing
The willow swaying
And creaking
Your jacket falls
You are pulled
A force reaches out and grips you
It wants you to come closer
And closer
And closer
The grave markings are old
Some wood and rotted
Others stone and weathered
Indecipherable
And closer
The willow sways to an invisible breeze
Neither felt
Or heard
A light
From a crack in the bark
Slices open
Letting streaking sunlight pattern the cemetery
And closer
And closer
And gone.
And a bat screeches
As the trick-or-treaters
Laugh merrily over the hill
On which the forgotten cemetery stands.
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